Cabin Fever
by Arenas
Summary: Right at the end of Babies and Bathwater, Cuddy got a conscience, Vogler took his 100 million and left. What if Cuddy never got to see House in action that last time? Chapter 4 lives!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Cabin Fever

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Right at the end of Babies and Bathwater, Cuddy got a conscience, Vogler took his $100 million and left. What if Cuddy never got to see House in action that last time?

**Author's Notes:** There wouldn't have been a story if it hadn't been for Merrie so big thanks there. While this first chapter/prologue is short, I don't know what's going to happen later on so don't get discouraged quite yet.

**Chapter 1**

House sat behind his desk, leg propped up on top. The Game Boy lay abandoned on a stack of papers. He looked guarded and nervous. Vogler stood opposite House with his arms crossed. He looked smug.

"Vogler," House said. "What an unpleasant surprise."

"No clever diatribe? That's not like you, Greg," Vogler pointed out.

"You'd be a bit ornery too if you knew you weren't going to come back the next day," House practically spat.

"Ornery? Have you taken my offer?"

"Which one would that be?"

"To resign peacefully. I'm a reasonable man," Vogler answered airily.

"Too kind. Yes, I'm resigning," House snapped.

"You're doing the right thing," Vogler assured him. "No hard feelings, right?"

House looked away, his jaw tight. His eyes squeezed shut and he nodded stiffly. Vogler handed him a tissue from the box on the desk. At House's suspicious glance, Vogler nodded knowingly. House blew his nose loudly.

"Good luck, Greg."

"Thanks," he whispered.

Vogler grinned, his daydream at an end. Now to tell Dr. Gregory House for real.

JJJ

House put the finishing touches on a note about the treatment of Olive Kaplan. One of the remaining ducklings would find it, take over and make sure things got done. He didn't think it likely that he'd get the satisfaction of doing it himself.

The click of a pair of highly glossed shoes made him pause. Not a duckling. Too important to be a duckling. Definitely a masculine shoe though. The second set of footwear interested him even more. High heels. Not a nurse. Both pairs of footsteps were too confident, despite the dragging quality of the high heels. It had to be Vogler and Cuddy.

"Greg. You got a minute?" Vogler asked. He stepped through the glass door anyway. Cuddy followed with an apologetic look.

"No, I haven't. I'm in the middle of composing a love letter. I was _going_ to propose to Cuddy, but I can see I'm not going to get to surprise her now," House replied. "Sorry, lover."

"House," Cuddy reprimanded shortly.

"Someone die?" he asked callously. "Can I have their parking space?"

"Greg. The board took a vote tonight." Vogler cut in.

"Oh good. That's good. Boards do that sort of thing, don't they?"

"You're fired." It hadn't been as glorious as Vogler had planned it. It even lacked the Donald Trump feel Vogler had wanted. Not that he had really believed House would cooperate.

"Bet you enjoyed that," House muttered. "Say it again. I know you want to."

"I'll expect you to clean out your office by the end of tomorrow." Vogler turned on his heel to scrape up what pride he had left and exited the office. Cuddy spared one last look for her best doctor.

"Do I get a complementary goodbye hug and kiss?" House asked. "Only fair."

"Goodbye, House." She too left the room. House finished off the note, his last case from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

JJJ

Allison Cameron had rather enjoyed her day off to a point. She would have preferred doing her job to searching for a new one, but at least her résumé was out there now. She was getting ready to crash with a book when a knock sounded from the vicinity of her front door. House was behind it, calmly looking everywhere but at her.

"House? Why are you here, it's almost ten. Is something wrong?"

"Hm? No, nothing's wrong. Why would something be wrong?"

"Well, you did pick kind of a strange time to see me."

"Visiting people during the day is so overrated."

"So you're visiting for the sake of visiting? Why don't I believe you?"

"Good, I don't believe me either. You didn't have to resign," House remarked.

"What do you mean?" Cameron frowned.

"Exactly what I said. Vogler got his way. You jumped the gun."

"Are you trying to tell me that-"

"Vogler's a power-hungry idiot? Yeah, more or less."

"He got the Board to vote you out, didn't he?" Why did Wilson-"

"He didn't. Vogler got him voted out too," House muttered.

"House, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. Be sorry you missed out on 100 million smackers. Thought I'd just pop by and deliver the good news."

"You don't even care a little bit?"

"Sure, I care. I care that I never have to see Vogler ever again. Makes me positively giddy."

"You don't care that you have no job to go to?"

"I, unlike you, don't feel the need to save the world one life at a time."

"And that's why you avoid the Clinic and play video games all day."

"Uh, yeah," House rolled his eyes.

"Thanks for telling me you got sacked," Cameron said stiffly.

"If you're interested in my life story, I bet I can make it over Tuesday at midnight."

"I'm sure you've got better things to do." She shut the door. House didn't make any attempt to reconcile; she could hear him leave. Cameron sighed and went to her room to change into PJ's and read. There was just something about Greg House that made a girl want to alternately pummel and hug him.

JJJ

House poured another snifter of whisky. He drank it in one gulp and poured another. Home sweet home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Cabin Fever

**Rating**: PG-13

**Summary**: Right at the end of Babies and Bathwater, Cuddy got a conscience, Vogler took his $100 million and left. What if Cuddy never got to see House in action that last time?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own House or anything. In fact, I own nothing at all. I am a poor, pitiful person who just enjoys torturing innocent, smart-mouthed doctors.

**Author's Notes**: Onwards and upwards. Honour roll at the end.

**Chapter 2**

Vogler had House's neck in a death grip. He raised his free hand with a feral grin, eager to bash the other man's brains in. House winced as the hand descended, and nearly fell out of the chair when his head knocked remarkably like a door. It took several deep, cleansing breaths to chase away the feeling of impending doom. He finally levered himself out of the chair with the help of his cane and all but yanked the door open.

"Don't you know it's," House checked his watch. "12:30 in the afternoon?"

"I can read digital watches as well as the next man," Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Then you know decent people could have been sleeping."

"What was keeping you awake, then?"

"What else?" House muttered. He shuffled aside to allow Wilson room to enter the flat.

"I heard from Cameron," Wilson said quietly as the door clicked shut. "And to let you know, 'What else?' is not an answer."

"Cameron can't keep her mouth shut, and to let you know, is too," House retorted.

Wilson let the topic of Cameron go for the moment, certain he could steer it back later. " 'Fraid not, House. What's bothering you? Or maybe it's who-"

"Vogler doesn't bother me!" House snarled.

"Vogler? I wasn't even talking about Vogler," Wilson answered innocently.

"Yes, you were. You were just going to pretend you weren't so it would seem like I'm the one with the problem."

"Aren't you? You can't get along with anybody. We wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for your impecable people skills."

"Exactly. I don't tolerate stupidity. I'm impecable at it. Thought you'd figured it out by now." House turned around and all but stalked to his chair. He kicked his foot onto the coffee table and left Wilson to his own devices. The flickering TV screen was Wilson's cue to take a seat on the couch and get comfortable. He'd been around House long enough to correctly interpret his silences. The TV meant, "I'll talk when I feel like it."

"Vogler had it out for me," House muttered after awhile.

"He doesn't like your music," Wilson agreed.

"The Temptations?"

"Of course."

"So close. At least it wouldn't have made a difference if I'd worn a lab coat," House shrugged.

"I think he might have been a bit angry when you bad-mouthed his product," Wilson pointed out.

"And you're going to drive this home by telling me we'd still have jobs if I'd sucked it up and humoured him."

"It would have been nice, yeah."

"Is this the part where I say, 'I'm sorry,' and atone for all my sins?"

"You wouldn't mean it. Besides, I highly doubt you'd be able to atone for _all_ your sins. Not in this lifetime, anyway."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," House grumbled.

"You wouldn't repent. It gives you too much happiness to piss Cuddy off!"

"You sick man, are you implying that I get off on Cuddy's displeasure?"

Wilson gave House a disbelieving look. House called his glance and raised him a "Don't you trust me?" stare. Wilson shook his head and watched the beginning of the next soap in silence. They'd established a firm friendship on silence.

"Why did I find out the news from Cameron instead of you?" Wilson asked suddenly.

"Ssh, we're going to find out that Nick isn't the real father," House replied.

"How do you know that?"

"Look at them? They look nothing alike."

"House, they're actors. They aren't going to look like a family."

"Oh, and the blond hair isn't a give away. The casting and makeup people would do a better job than this," House scoffed.

"You don't know that."

"Jamie, I have something to tell you. Nick is not your real father," Angie on television sniffed dramatically. House glanced at Wilson with a raised eyebrow as she continued. "His eyes...his hair...they're all different than yours-too different. You must have noticed during your life and now...now I'm telling you why."

"I did notive," Jamie whispered sadly.

"This is a repeat, isn't it?" Wilson asked skeptically.

"You don't trust my medical know how?"

"Yes, but you cheat."

"I do not cheat!"

"No?"

"No!"

"So how could Cameron get the info before I did?"

"Yes, this is a repeat," House answered airily.

"You're avoiding the question," Wilson warned.

"But I'm answering the accusation."

"Which is much less important than the question."

"Well we can't always get what we want, can we?"

Wilson rolled his eyes as House got up. he made his way to the liquor cabinet to inspect the contents. The cabinet looked to be nearly full and boasted a decent selevtion. Wilson guessed that House had done whatever constituted "shopping" not too long ago. There might even have been something substantial in the fridge. He also knew that if House didn't take care of himself, all the food would go to waste and his alcoholic stash would be empty in a matter of days.

A bottle was set before Wilson which startled him out of his bleak thoughts. He glanced guiltily at House before grabbing his bottle and opening it. It didn't stop House's narrowed, true-blue eyes from boring into the back of his skull.

"You're thinking again."

"It's kind of hard not to think when that's what you've been told to do all day."

"No, you're worrying."

"And if I am?"

"Don't."

"House, you have to think. You never took cases that didn't make you think."

"So? I'll watch Jeopardy."

"You're going to be bored."

"Why don't people naturally assume that I'm going to find another job?"

"Maybe because you don't take initiative unless it's going to annoy someone?"

"You clearly haven't hung around me long enough. I work just fine on my own."

"Okay then, assuming you did find a job, who would take you?"

"I'm brilliant, who wouldn't want me?"

"My point exactly," Wilson said wryly. "Are you so sure you can find a job that will give you the freedom Cuddy did?"

"Maybe. Haven't exactly started looking yet, have I?" House took a healthy swig of whisky. "Why'd you come over here, anyway?"

"I'm not going to say it."

"No, really, why did you? I'm curious."

Wilson glowered at House. "To make sure you haven't killed yourself yet."

"You worried about me? I should be flattered, but don't you have your own job search and failing marriage to attend to?"

"It can wait."

"So can't mine."

"You're just waiting for Vogler to leave."

"He'll get bored and move on like a plague of locusts. Watch, he'll get tired of waiting for the cure for cancer, get fed up, and walk away."

"Has Cameron found a job?" Wilson asked. He didn't want to talk about Vogler anymore. If House did, Wilson suspected it might turn into an obsession.

"How would I know?"

"You talk to her. You like her."

"I don't like her."

"You told her you got fired."

"I thought she wanted to gloat. Or feel sorry for me, I never can tell with that girl."

"You'd never give anyone either of those privileges. You _like _her, like her."

"Who said anything about _liking_ her, liking her?"

"You're implying it right now!"

"If you're going to disturb my daytime TV, you can leave now. And since you can't tell me a patient's about to flatline, I win."

Wilson shook his head. house was either going to come out of this pitfall totally clean, or very dead. He wasn't quite sure which, yet.

JJJ

Foreman picked up the note fore the third time and read it. It might as well have been written by a man long since dead.

_The Kaplan kid has a thymus problem. DiGeorge Syndrome. Start it on immunoglobin replacement and it'll be fine. Tell the police and Child Services and let the parents have their kid back. Tell them sorry or something, you're good at that. Make sure Cuddy doesn't poke her nose into other people's business anymore.- House_

The first time Foreman had read the note, he hadn't believed House could still give a damn in the midst of getting fired. The second time, Foreman realized that this was why he'd opted to stay at Princeton-Plainsboro under House, even when the man became unbearable. Foreman started Olive Kaplan on immunoglobin replacement and as predicted, she'd begun to improve almost immediately. The third time Foreman read the note...he started to wonder what became of House.

He'd vacated the office quietly enough, and it had fallen to Chase as Vogler's favorite pet. Chase looked lost in that room, but Foreman was past caring about Chase's woes. He had neither gained nor lost favor in House's absence and Foreman intended to keep it that way. But before Chase could take residence in House's office, Foreman demanded first dibs on the stuff left behind. He had come away with a new TV and a note detailing the treatment for a miraculously shrinking baby. Chase hadn't cared, so Foreman took the case and a last communication attempt from ex-Dr. Gregory House.

While Foreman worked his shifts and steeled himself against Chase's increasingly annoying behaviour, he began to wonder if he shouldn't have invested in a WWHD bracelet.

JJJ

House let Wilson finish the last of the pizza. Shop special, no olives, extra cheese. Neither of them had had lunch, and House never got breakfast. Together, they'd downed a large pizza and were now settling into the evening TV rotation.

The best cable could offer was Survivor or some stand up comic on Comedy Central. Wilson seemed apathetic, so House left it on Jeff Probst teasing starving people with cheeseburgers.

"These people need to be eaten by crocodiles," House muttered.

"Don't you think that's a little harsh?" Wilson raised an eyebrow.

"They get kicked off the island-which isn't even an island, I might ass-if they whine too much. There's no drama. If you whine too much, you should be fed to a crocodile."

"I can see the participation they'd get for that show."

House frowned at the empty bottle of alcohol. It was a little late for beer, but he had to conserve what liquour he had left. He had the sinking feeling that it'd be pretty sparse in the coming weeks. he popped a Vicodin instead and limped into the kitchen to fetch two cans of beer. He tossed the first to Wilson before maneuvering back to his chair clutching the second.

"You shook it, didn't you?" Wilson asked suspiciously.

"Does it look like I did?"

"No, it doesn't, and that's exactly the point."

"Open it over the sink if you're going to be a baby about it."

Wilson did get up and pull the tab over the sink. House shook his head as he cracked his own can open. It definitely didn't have the kick the whisky had packed, but it was adequated to get drunk with. Or even further inebriated, as the case may be.

"I hope you didn't drive here or you're never making it home tonight," House called.

"I never said I was leaving tonight." Wilson took a seat on the couch again, beer in hand.

"I'm saying you're leaving. I'll be fine."

"What if your pills run out?"

House paused, giving the bottle a shake. Damn Wilson. He was right; the number of pills in the bottle was definitely not one that House considered safe. Well...he'd lasted a week before. It had been a really _long_ week, but he'd made it through okay. House could last a simple night, if it came to that.

"It's 9, what trouble can I possibly get into now?"

"Plenty," Wilson maintained.

"If I run out tonight, I'll go over to the hospital tomorrow. Sound reasonable?"

"I'm not worried about your pills not making the night. I'm worried about you."

"Now you're starting to sound like Cameron. Do you do each other's nails at night?"

"That's not the point."

"Do you want to call the cab, or should I?"

Wilson sighed and stood up. He left a twenty on the counter for the pizza and alcohol and trudged to the door. He stopped just shy of the door. "I'm calling you bright and early."

"I'll wait with bated breath. Good night." House returned to the show as Wilson lingered.

"Good bye, House."

The door shut behind him. House twisted around in the chair to make sure it wasn't a ruse. His entryway was vacant.

House checked the Vicodin bottle again, taking the pills out and counting them individually. There were exaclty four left. There was enough for tonight and if he was careful, most of the next day. Not for the following night though. He'd have to run to Princeton-Plainsboro to get a prescription. No self-respecting pharmaceutical company would trust the word of an unemployed doctor.

Just thinking about the schematics made his head hurt. He slid further into the recliner to ease the leg pain and eventually drifted into a restless sleep.

JJJ

2 A.M. Infromercial. Leg hurts. Head hurts. Dry mouth. Hang over.

If I can make it to the sink, I'll be okay.

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!

No sink. Vicodin. I've never needed water before.

Damn it!

Three left.

No more moving tonight. Just rest. Lots of rest.

**Honour Roll: Mayorst: **Yay! You like it! You really like it! Heh, I kid, I kid. Hope you enjoy the coming angst. **boredandhomealone: **I would have updated earlier, but...complications. And House refusing to talk to me for putting him in this situation. He's a wee bit stubborn. **Merrie: **I hope you have more than enough reading material in the coming weeks. Hence the push to get this out, you see. We haven't even scratched the surface of the angst. I hope... **MagickalStar135: **And we finally get around to chapter 2. That's a good thing, right? Wilson's in for the long haul and the other ducklings are starting to open up. They'd better after all this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Cabin Fever

**Rating**: PG-13

**Summary**: Right at the end of Babies and Bathwater, Cuddy got a conscience, Vogler took his $100 million and left. What if Cuddy never got to see House in action that last time?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own House or anything. In fact, I own nothing at all. I am a poor, pitiful person who just enjoys torturing innocent, smart-mouthed doctors.

**Author's Notes**: I'm not even going to try and attempt to justify the lateness of this chapter. Just trust that this poor thing's been in the works a long time and only extenuating circumstances could keep it unpublished this long. Honour roll coming.

**Chapter 3**

The phone rang at 7:35 exactly. The time Wilson used to call about work. House hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep the night before, but it did allow himself to pick up the phone before Wilson sent a Search and Rescue squad after him.

"This the house keeper or did I get the resident?"

"You'd have more fun with the house keeper. She's a doll."

"Did you polish off your pills?"

"Who polishes pills? Everyone knows they don't shine. I ate a pill at two and another at six, if you must know. I'm about to have one now. Are you monitoring my intake now or am I being paranoid?" House swallowed a glass of water while he waited Wilson to answer.

"I've always monitored your intake, I've just never said anything about it before.

"You must have been thrilled during the week from hell."

"Not as much as I would have liked to have been," Wilson muttered. He still hadn't told House that he had essentially been the mastermind behind the operation.

"Charming. I'm getting a prescription today, do you want to come and see if the hospital's burned down yet?"

"Are you the one burning it down?"

"Hardly. Are you coming or not?"

"Yes, yes, I'm coming!"

JJJ

Wilson arrived at 7:45. By all appearances, it was just another day at work. Wilson had probably planned it that way, House thought bitterly. He had forgone the tie, but the button-down shirt and pressed pants were certainly familiar.

"I don't respond well to subliminal messages, Wilson. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were going to take me job hunting."

"Not like that, I wouldn't," Wilson replied. He eyed House's ratty Pink Floyd shirt and grey sweatpants with an incredulous air. Only a blind administrator would take House on by sight alone. At that rate, the administrator would probably help to be deaf as well.

"I'm not changing. And I wouldn't work anywhere that didn't respect my band shirts."

"Apparently not," Wilson sighed to himself. He let House by, waiting for him to lock the front door.

The trip to the hospital was uneventful, as it always was. Wilson parked as close as he could to spare house the walk, but he still saw a pill slide down his throat when they reached the doors.

"I'm looking for Doctor Cuddy. Tell her it's urgent," House said to the receptionist.

"Oh, Dr. house, you're back! I was starting to think-"

"Now," House cut in.

"Right away!" The girl blushed violently and ran off to fetch Cuddy. House shook his head and waited at the desk. Wilson sat down to take in the nostalgia of the Clinic. House merely looked ready to strangle the next person to touch him with a germ-ridden, snotty hand. Thankfully, the girl rushed back.

"Dr. Cuddy was adamant that you should wait in here like all the patients you used to abuse on your Clinic duty," she reported sheepishly.

"And she told you to say those words exactly, I'll bet," House grumbled. The girl nodded. House glanced at the Clinic that only now seemed to be full of an ungodly amount of people. _Damn Cuddy._

"I'm sorry, Dr. House," she said apologetically. House nodded slowly, his lip curled unpleasantly, before taking a seat beside Wilson.

"Cuddy being mean again and making you wait?" he asked.

"Shut up," House muttered. Wilson suppressed a smile, recalling the Clinic time better spent watching soaps instead of administering flu vaccines. It was really nothing that House didn't deserve, and Wilson deserved a private chuckle about his karma streak.

It took a maddening hour for Cuddy to decide House had suffered enough. She showed up herself with a haughty look on her face. It was a far cry from the night Vogler had fired him.

"Gregory House?" she called. He flicked the mucusy hand off his knee-ignoring the child's whining sniffle-and followed Cuddy into an examination room.

"What seems to be the problem?" Cuddy asked casually. She leaned against the counter. House began to tell her when Cuddy held up a hand. She tossed a little white pill in the air and caught it in her mouth.

"You've been practicing, you scoundrel. What's the Ibuprofen for? That time of the month?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Not really. I need a prescription."

"It just dawned on you?" Cuddy raised an eyebrow. House withdrew the amber container that contained his last Vicodin. He rattled it around the bottom for good measure.

"Is that supposed to make me sympathize?" Cuddy asked lazily.

"No, it's supposed to make you move faster. Must be broken."

"Forgive me, I don't understand Vicodin speak."

"Good to know you never understood me all these years."

"Good to know you freely admit that it was the Vicodin diagnosing all those people over said years," Cuddy retorted.

"Only a little," House leered. "Now, are you going to write me a scrip or not? I'll get Fooreman to do it, but I really don't want to."

"You don't want it rubbed in your face."

"No, I don't want to be treated by traitors."

"I can't imagine why you think they're traitors. They were doing their jobs like you should have."

House reigned in his automatic response. _I **did** do my job! I helped save those kids, while you sat on your perch and did nothing…_ He couldn't alienate her yet. Cuddy had gotten out a pad of paper and scribbled something on it. She ripped the prescription off and handed it to House.

"You're going to have to start paying for these, you know."

"Why would I do that?" House snorted as he pocketed the slip of paper.

"You're not getting it otherwise. You can't take advantage of your-excuse me-_our_ pharmacy anymore," Cuddy replied. House just glared. Cuddy folded her arms over her chest superiorly.

"The world would be a better place if we weren't all monetarily inclined," House rejoined. "Besides, the hospital's loaded now; I don't know how it could possibly miss one bottle of Vicodin-"

"Easily. Are you leaving now so I can treat an actually curable patient?

"That would make your job too easy."

"Do you want Vogler to escort you out personally? I bet he could find the time for you."

House never wanted to hurt Cuddy before. He'd joked about it with Wilson from time to time, but he's had too much respect for her as a bleeding heart doctor. All thoughts of sympathy for Cuddy and her untenable position between health care and wealth fled from House's mind. He slid off the examination bench.

"I bet he's good in bed. Mattress must be stuffed with twenties. Think of me everytime he wears the little red Speedo, hm?"

Cuddy gasped angrily. House shook out his last pill and limped out of the room.

"How'd it go?" Wilson asked as House reentered the Clinic.

"Better than I thought it would. Let's go."

"You're not stopping at the pharmacy?"

"If I stay here any longer, I'm going to get sick." House eyed a particularly sniffley child. "There's gotta be a Rite Aid around here somewhere."

JJJ

Cuddy took a minute to recover. It hadn't been that she didn't expect House to bit back. She hadn't wanted to be callous. It just…always seemed to happen around him. Her hackles rose and they went at it like a couple of Japanese fighting fish.

_I shouldn't have baited him_, she thought again. The hospital could spare a couple hundred bottles of Vicodin if she'd been inclined to dole it out like candy. And if she didn't know any better, she would bet that his severance pay would go to some lucky pharmacy's coffers. Wilson's too, if he felt half as bad for House as she knew he did. She felt bad for him. _So I tease him with his only tether to reality_.

He hadn't always been that way, though. Sure, he was a smart ass, but it was endearing. Kind of. Then the infarction and things became naturally different. He was the same, but it was like looking at a photography negative. He was even less approachable than before (which was saying something) and there was no doubt in Cuddy's mind that the Vicodin had something to do with it. It was almost as though the Vicodin was the only thing keeping him alive, while his job supplied him with the reason and the means to keep taking it. Now that he had no reason of means-

"Dr. Cuddy? There are more people outside." The shy receptionist poked her head in the room again.

"I'll be out shortly, thanks Whitney," Cuddy smiled slightly. She mentally shook herself. She had to return to her work; she would accomplish what she'd accused House of not doing. It had been a dumb lie, even in her ears.

_No. Forget house for now. You're down three doctors. No more feeling sorry for house_.

No matter how hard she tried to gear her mind up for the task at hand, the unfinished thought chased itself inside her head. Now that House had no reason or means, how long would it take for him to give up altogether?

JJJ

"What kind of Vicodin, sir?" the clerk asked in a bored voice.

"What kind of Vicodin? What kind of a stupid question is that? The kind that works," House frowned.

"Store brand or regular brand?" the clerk clarified.

"What's the difference?" Wilson inquired in place of his friend. House would have belted the kid with his cane.

"Store's cheaper," the kid rolled his eyes. It was fairly obvious.

"Fine. Store's fine," House snapped.

"_Dude_. Like…take a chill pill."

"Wilson shoved House away from the kid. "Can you finish up within the hour?"

"Depends if we have any store brand left. Vicodin's pretty popular."

"Do it fast, okay?" Wilson pleaded as he led House into the fresh air.

"And you expect me to 'be nice,'" House sneered.

"Civil," Wilson corrected. He sat beside House on a bench, wondering just what would be the best course of action. A bar would get him among people, but that could be a bad thing. Home would give him reason to drink even more than at a bar. That was definitely worse. And judging by House's determined stare, the couldn't wait long on the Vicodin.

"Let's go get a beer," House muttered. "I'm sick of waiting."

Wilson quirked an eyebrow. Well…that was interesting.

JJJ

They grabbed a pair of stools and ordered a couple drinks. House wanted to run back to the pharmacy after five minutes, but Wilson kept him in check. Wilson promised company of the female persuasion; House called them whores and moodily finished his drink.

Meanwhile, Cameron hid behind her martini.

_Oh God, what is he **doing** here? _she moaned silently. She'd gone out drinking to escape all things relating to the work force. House definitely qualified as "work" in more ways than one. She liked him on many levels, but the last thing she wanted that night was a headache.

"Come on, House, You've got forty-five minutes until your prescription's done. Can't you pretend to enjoy yourself?" Wilson asked.

"My leg hurts," House answered petulantly.

"I gathered that. You'd rather stay home and drink yourself to death than here-"

"Drinking myself to death?"

"Right," Wilson rolled his eyes.

Cameron sighed, feeling for the poor oncologist. Nobody could talk to House when he was in one of his moods. Cameron knew this all too well. The only thing to snap him out of it was an impossible problem to be solved. Then he'd be exceptionally smug once he solved it and the world would be at rights again.

"Cameron? What are you doing here?" Wilson asked curiously. He slid opposite her at the table, his eyes the epitome of polite confusion.

Cameron blushed. "Nothing special.

"It's a good night to be outside," Wilson acknowledged. "I'm here with House."

"I heard," she smiled slowly. Wilson craned his head to check how far he'd wandered; it was all of about ten feet from the bar. House's back was turned to Cameron's table.

"Guess so. He saw Cuddy today."

"Vicodin," she guessed.

"Yeah. She bit his head off so we're here waiting on a prescription next door."

"He's not taking it well."

"Of course not."

Cameron laughed, "He'd better get a job soon, then."

"Do you think he could teach med students?" Wilson wondered.

"I…doubt it…" Cameron shook her head. "I don't think he's play nice."

"Me neither," he sighed. "Do you know anywhere that needs a diagnostician?"

"He's not going to look for himself?"

"I don't think eh will. And if he tries, I think he'd ruin any chance he had on the interview."

"Good point. I might know a place. I'm applying there tomorrow. You should look into it too."

"Don't worry about me," Wilson said shyly. "Let's worry about House first."

"Yes, let's worry about me. That's always good sport," House replied airily. "I always need worrying about."

"It's not time yet," Wilson warned.

"I figured I'd find out if you were getting any action, you were taking so long," House arched a brow. "Of course, I never thought-"

"Nothing happened, House," Cameron cut in.

"No, certainly not. Just planning the next girl's weekend, right?"

"We're worrying about your well-being!"

"Okay, it went from cute to old really fast. I don't need anybody worrying about me."

"If you won't do it, who will?"

House didn't reply.

**Honour Roll: ****MagickalStar135**Okay, not every month and for the record, I'm going to try really hard next time and make sure a new chap gets up faster than this. Lo siento. **The Lilac Elf of Lothlorian: **House is going to go slowly but surely insane, be sure of that. **Linz005: **House's next move, and it had pills in it. Terribly unexpected? **boredandhomealone: **Definitely shooting for a sooner release date of the next chapter. o.O And I can't stop the Wilson/House banter. Much too fun and too enjoyable. **Merrie: **And it's now three chapters! With more House and Wilson goodness! That's my favorite part, really. **Mayorst: **More Cameron AND Cuddy, what say you to that? **Nayvera: **Stalking's always appreciated. So long as that's not you under my bushes right this second; that's a little creepy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Cabin Fever

**Rating:** PG-13

**Summary:** Right at the end of Babies and Bathwater, Cuddy got a conscience, Vogler took his $100 million and left. What if Cuddy never got to see House in action that last time?

**Disclaimer:** Alas, I own nothing. Still. Not even pity.

**Author's Notes:** I haven't forgot about this fic, honest. _blush_

**Chapter 4**

_2 A.M. already? Ugh…Deep breaths._

_Where's the Vicodin? I know I left it-…_

_In the kitchen. Damn it._

_Of all the days to leave it in the kitchen…what was I thinking? Or not thinking. This unemployment thing is getting serious. It's making me delusional and absent-minded. That's bad. I'm not absent-minded._

_There you are. You must have been hiding. Naughty. Down you go…_

_Wha-? 1 in the morning? No, it can't be. Must have been a power outtage. It's still 2. Of course it is. Wilson will have the time. Call him tomorrow. Today. Whatever._

JJJ 

House woke up another two times between 1 and 8 A.M. It might have been 9 if House still bought his power failure excuse. He was beginning to suspect that his beloved Vicodin was betraying him. He hadn't noticed the night before, but he was taking more than normal. Wilson was going to whine at him. Guilt him into a week sans Vicodin, just to see if the hospital had produced abnormal results. House wasn't keen on asking Wilson for the time of day yet.

He'd wait until things got really bad. He wasn't totally sure he'd call then either.

JJJ 

"You're kidding me," House muttered. His finger ran up the inside of the amber-coloured tube as a last resort. He'd had pills stick together at the bottom during humid days. That's what happened, it had to be. The label was just obscuring the pills at the bottom. His finger traced every inch of bottle and still encountered no rogue pills

"Damn it!" He scowled. The pills hadn't lasted nearly as long as they were supposed to; the bottle was gone in roughly half the time that it normally took him to finish hospital brand product. He went through the first one like a handful of candy, and he'd taken the last of his second bottle a scant ninety minutes ago. Now, he had nothing to get by on. Even worse, he was going to have to go outside. He was going to have to shell out more of his severance pay that was better spent on booze and food. His leg twinged in pain.

"And so begins the self-destruction," he muttered dryly. Yep, he was utterly doomed. He knocked back the rest of his coffee and called a taxi.

JJJ 

"Uh…you're only good for one refill," the pharmacist said. The same one who had first served House a scant three days ago. Two bottles later, House was back and waiting on a third.

"…What?" House's brow furrowed. Cuddy wouldn't have done that. She would have made sure there wasn't a limit on refills. Cuddy wasn't totally heartless.

"Sorry, sir, but you reached your limit on refills. You're gonna' need another prescription."

House remained motionless for the better part of a minute. His mind ranted and cursed every family member Cuddy had ever had. He'd even started in on the BFF's when he shook himself out of the red haze. His knee tried to buckle, but House kept it in check.

"Give me a bottle of Ibuprofen, then. Make it quick," House snapped. His gaze alighted on a tube of similar painkillers to the left of the counter. If the kid already had those pills out, it'd be a breeze.

"Sir, that's in Aisle 5, you can purchase it yourself," the kid huffed.

"Is it such an inconvenience that you can't get you ass off your cushy stool, pick up the bottle in front of you, and hand it to me; or are you so incredibly incapacitated that you don't deserve to live and work in a functioning society because your mother drank and smoked when she was pregnant with you? Are you a certifiable idiot and not even capable of a vegetative state? I demand service!" House yelled. "I am in pain, you dolt! I don't have time to stand around waiting for your brain cells to form a coherent statement! I need Vicodin _now_!"

"Sir, if you don't calm down, I'm going to have you escorted from the store." The manager had emerged from his cozy room in the back. "If you're in serious pain, I suggest you get to the teaching hospital that's not too far from here.

"Where do you think I got the first prescription, genius?" House shook the empty pill bottle for emphasis. "This idiot says it's only good for one refill."

The manager inspected the label. "Well, he's right. It is only good for one refill. I'm sorry, sir. I'd appreciate it if you would refrain from calling my staff idiots-"

"They are! I asked for Ibuprofen and I was referred to Aisle 5. That is a perfectly fine bottle of pills right there. I refuse to walk to Aisle 5 when I'm being mercilessly teased."

"Sir, that's-"

"Stop calling me 'sir.' It's annoying."

"-another person's prescription," the managed pressed on firmly.

"Give him another bottle. I bet he won't know the difference. I'll pay for it; I have money-"

"No, it's not legal. I will personally get you a bottle of Ibuprofen if that's what you want, but you can't have pills from this pharmacy without a prescription."

A shiver went up House's leg. The pain was mounting and he'd told the taxi to wait outside. There was no winning this round. He held his tongue and limped away from his assembled observers. "What are you looking at, tachycardia?" he growled at a man who clutched a McDonald's bag in his fist. The man backed away, but House was still in a foul mood.

As predicted, he found the pills in Aisle 5. He turned to the manager-he had doggedly followed House from the pharmacy-and stuck a ten-dollar bill in the man's hand. The manager glanced curiously at the currency before crying out in alarm when House tore the cellophane wrapper off the pill bottle. The childproof cap was next, then the cotton swab stuffed into the top. House tapped two pills into his palm and swallowed them whole. There were no welcome Vicodin vibes; his leg throbbed furiously. He had a sinking feeling that it would take quite a bit longer for there to be any difference at all.

"Sir, you can't do that! You have to check the pills out and pay for them properly!"

The manager was shouting.

"You have money; I have pills. Win-win," House muttered. He limped past the irate man who gripped House by the arm.

"Put the top on those pills an come with me."

"You know, you're not getting me to go anywhere. You don't get enough calcium. I can tell. You're going to fall on your ass and break a hip and only have yourself to blame. Your grip is weak and sad. Eat more dairy, or don't even try and intimidate people." House scoffed and left a paranoid Rite-Aid pharmacist manager in his wake. He had better people to chew out.

JJJ 

"Why was I just refused a bottle of Vicodin?" House demanded. Cuddy stopped and turned. She looked dumbfounded to see House again, and in the lobby of the hospital no less. It hadn't been a week.

"I don't know, why were you?" she asked. She would allow him a few minutes of conversation. She needed a break, and House looked good for a couple of laughs.

"The guys at the pharmacy told me your signature was only worth two refills," House glowered. "That's funny. My signature used to demand respect."

"And now it's washed out and useless?" Cuddy held out her hand for the pill bottle. House looked peevish as he gave her the tube. Her shot had been far below the belt.

"Kind of like you, sitting in Vogler's pocket, but who am I to nit-pick? Just sign another prescription and I'll be out of here for another couple of days."

"Ballsy. Very ballsy, House." Cuddy handed the empty container back. "You're going to have to get it somewhere else."

"Excuse me?"

"You went through those pills at the rate it takes you to get through one bottle. You're going to OD if you're not careful and I'm not going to be responsible," Cuddy shrugged. "Go get high at someone else's expense."

"You think I'm _high_? I hurt! I'm high off not feeling pain! Rite-Aid cuts their product with something cheap, which is why I went through it so fast. I suggest you do a study on it, but in the mean time, you're going to kill me with Ibuprofen and chicken soup. This time, I'm not even going to get the satisfaction of gloating at you. I won't let you."

"I'm sorry, House, but some of us have to get back to work," Cuddy pointed out. She turned and started walking away.

"You can write a prescription."

"Any moron can. It's just a matter of whose signature has influence."

"Thanks for you wisdom, Dr. Cuddy. Gee whiz, I feel so enlightened. Tell Vogler he trains his staff well. Even the decent ones are turning into pricks," House spat. Cuddy ignored the shot and continued walking. It was just as well, House would never admit that he'd just called her "decent." The things he'd do for a rise these days.

He considered chasing her down. He began to follow when he caught sight of the security guards. He thought the stupid stunt wasn't worth the trouble, but they might be gentle with him. Former doctors still had to demand some kind of respect, right? He blew past the guards, intent on catching Cuddy.

"Sir! Sir, you're not authorized to go down there!"

House rolled his eyes, not slowing his gate. He hated it when people behaved the way he expected. A hand grasped his arm and tugged him to a stop.

"Sir, what are you doing?"

"How many people are going to grab me today?" House muttered irritably.

"Sir?"

"I'm not finished with Cuddy. I need to talk to her."

"She seems to be finished with you. Please follow me, sir."

"No, thank you." House jerked his arm out of the guard's hand.

"Sir!"

"Do I have a nametag on my chest? My name is not 'Sir,' and it never was. If you want to make yourself useful, you can skip back to your post and look for real perpetrators. I am going to find a competent doctor to suit my needs. That okay with you or are you going to yell at me some more?"

"Sir, all incoming patients without an appointment or need of immediate medical assistance are required to wait in the Clinic."

"I spent two hours in there last time, and I'm not about to do it again."

"House, you're causing trouble again?" a voice announced. Both the guard and House maneuvered to better see the new presence. Foreman was looking carefully, if sheepishly, smug. He approached the guard and nodded reassuringly.

"It's okay, he's with me," Foreman told him. "You can go back to your station. I'll take full responsibility."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" House asked softly as he looked around the hospital. Foreman elbowed him before shrugging at the guard. It was awkward, but it did get them an empty hallway.

"Why are you picking fights with security?" Foreman asked. He started towards the conference room, assuming House would take the hint. Even if Chase was only slightly more conscientious about Clinic duty than House, the room would be unoccupied at that time of day. They'd be fairly inconspicuous in there.

House followed Foreman, attempting to look like he was being led somewhere important. If Vogler saw him, there would be no doubt that it would turn into a Hollywood Deathmatch. Then, House eventually realized that he'd been asked a question. "I wasn't picking a fight with security, I was picking a fight with Cuddy," he answered after a moment.

"What sort of an idiot would you have to be to do that?" Foreman allowed House to enter first.

"A cheated one." House sat down at a table and immediately propped his foot on it. Just like old times.

"Cuddy didn't kiss you goodnight on your last date?"

"No, and she didn't give me a sound prescription, either."

"Prescription?" Foreman asked. House gave him a bored look. "Oh, right. Why wasn't it sound? Was it for Preparation H or something?"

"Har, har," House snorted. "It had a limit. And Rite-Aid's Vicodin is 75 crap. Now I'm running on fumes and Cuddy's being righteous. You see my problem."

"Indubitably," Foreman rolled his eyes. House took the opportunity to inspect a coffee cup and make his way over to the pot for a fresh cup. Foreman watched the pain crease House's forehead from the simple movement, wondering what he could possibly say to his former colleague as the other man fell into his chair again, exhausted. "What are you getting by on?"

"Hugs and beef broth. Does wonders." House didn't look up from his coffee. Not that Foreman hadn't expected it. He let House put the cup down before continuing.

"What really. Benadryl or-"

"The other one," House sighed in exasperation. He wasn't sure he could take much more of this curiosity. They were his pills and his life. Dependency on other people just plain sucked.

"Cuddy may have a fair reason for not letting you have a prescription. You haven't gone insane from pain yet, have you?"

"This from the man who insisted I lose the bet and take the Vicodin?" House snapped.

"This is different. You're not about to kill someone if you don't concentrate hard enough," Foreman argued. "Why don't you take the time to detox now, while you're not endangering anyone?"

"Endangering? That's rich. Thank you, Dr. Foreman, for having so much faith in my abilities. Now, I really have to be getting home so I can stab a meat cleaver in my leg, but you're welcome to watch if you're into that sort of thing. It's kind of frowned upon in this profession, so make sure you don't tell anyone."

"House, if you're going to kill yourself, I don't want to hear about it. Not from you, the TV, or the papers." Foreman sighed. "How much were you taking before Vogler sacked you?"

"You're writing a prescription?" House asked incredulously.

"Everyone wants to see you dead," Foreman answered. He looked engrossed in the pad of blank paper he'd drawn towards himself. "You diagnosed the Kaplan kid. That shows dedication. Someone at this hospital will realize you're not a total ass. You just have to make sure you're there to prove it to them when they come groveling."

House raised an eyebrow. Foreman's speech had been mildly intriguing. The pills he promised, more so.

"I'll get you the hospital kind when you need it. You'd better make sure you don't OD or it'll be my ass right there with you."

"Deal." House extended his hand. Foreman gripped it steadily, a serious look on his face.

"Deal."

**Honour Roll: Zorrita: **I've not seen anything by way of a House/OUATIM crossover, but I would so read if there was. **Merrie: **Pink Floyd! More! Is it wrong to have fun writing Cuddy? **Nayvera: **I'm so bad at spelling. That's what computers are supposed to do, but fail miserably at. _Sigh_ **The Orange Elf of Oblivion: **The world is utterly doomed. House isn't taking it so well either. **Roo88: **Writing evil is fun. Snark and evil are just great things to think up. **MagickalStar135: **Truth be told, it helps to have people come after me with pitchforks. I never remember to update otherwise. A little fan-encouraged motivation never hurts anyone. _Grin_. **Catherine5:** Don't mind at all. Go nuts. : )


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